


a jiography

by Omgitsnothing1



Series: Han Jisung's Life [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Childhood, Coming of Age, Gen, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Slice of Life, a retelling of Jisung's life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omgitsnothing1/pseuds/Omgitsnothing1
Summary: Jisung's earliest memory arrives in the shape of an airplane.





	1. Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preface: Please don't read this with the expectation of a lot of Stray Kids or Hyunsung in the beginning. I tagged the ship because they get together in the future. But right now, I’m writing about what I know of Jisung's life and they don't come in until later. So, if you want that, check back in when this is around Chapter 20 or so :)

Jisung's earliest memory arrives in the shape of an airplane. A small, chubby-cheeked six-year-old finds himself strapped to a scratchy economy seat, lemon yellow shoes dangling miles off the floor. The oval windows are too tall for him to peek out of, and his short torso restrains his field of vision to a metallic gray scenery, but he can feel it. 

The cryptic details of it all clarify themselves in quick flashes and uneasy blurs—it's in the thin layer of dust clinging to the bottom of the windows, the soft percussive snores of knocked out passengers, the rhythmic scritch-scratch of his father's pen, the rough turn of dog-eared pages, the baritone of a sigh, and the creaking of slim, pretty flight attendants with voices like cotton candy—sweet and soft and gone too soon. 

He sticks a sticky cherry-flavored lollipop into his cheek and wonder and watches and whines. 

It's in the patchwork of plaid blankets, the bulging overhead compartments, the clink of baby bottles, the ka-chink of ice, the slight hum of the plane, the wisps of white smiling through the glass.

It's in the silence only a cluttered, cranky plane can provide that his father smooths a hand over his head, lingers, hesitates, and continues. "The world is a big, big place and I can't wait for you to meet it. It's scary out here, not gonna lie, but when you look around you'll find that the world is just full of people."

It's in the warmth of his father's arm as he wraps it around his shoulders, the ghost of a kiss on his forehead. 

"We're all on this plane for different reasons. Yet we left at the same spot and at the same time. And we will all reach the same destination in the end. It's the flight of life gently carrying us to a singular fate, the string tying us all together."

Six-year-old Jisung with cherry residue clinging to his cheeks can't understand what his father is saying, so he hums, nods, and thinks he can. 

It's in the laughter of a couple whispering jokes in each other's ear, the extra napkins handed out, a conversation starting over a saltine cracker. It's in the slide of his father's finger through his hair, the rustle of a leather notebook, and the strength of his presence. 

It's a connection. 

.

.

.

_Travel_

  1. _the winding road paved with the colors of the sky, connecting me to the undeniable shade of you_
  2. _experiencing, believing, feeling_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung has stated before that due to his father's job—which I think he was a tour guide or something about foreign affairs—he traveled a lot and I figured that he must have been exposed to many kinds of people and have an appreciation for them.
> 
> At first, I planned on doing a one-shot, but while I was doing my research, I found that he actually shared quite a bit about his life and the outline got too long, so I'm making it chaptered. 
> 
> me: has three unfinished bts stories that aren't even halfway done.  
also me: well, time to sell my soul to Stray Kids
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	2. Impossibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jisung stands on the edge of a bench and tries to covet the allure of Japan in the palms of his hands.

Jisung stands on the edge of a bench and tries to covet the allure of Japan in the palms of his hands. A calming mystique wraps itself around dewy fields of lavender and the cotton candy petals falling from the sky like raindrops, threading itself through breaths of wind which tangle flighty fingers through his hair. It's gorgeous. A picturesque photograph of nature, an impossibility akin to a dream. 

This tranquil country seems like a long, long dream. From the square watermelons his father lets him crack with a baseball bat to the quiet elderly couple handing him green tea-flavored chocolates, it feels like cherries plucked from the top of a sundae. 

He reaches his hands out and wonders if a prettier sight exists than blooming sakura trees bending over him as if saying hello. He leans forward to catch a petal. And he leans, leans, leans—

A hand yanks him back by the collar. "Careful!" his dad says. 

Jisung blinks, looking down. His left foot balances on thin air where wood used to be. His father picks him up and settles him back on the bench. He shakes his head with a pout, climbing down to grab at the open air. 

What he expects to be a simple endeavor escalates into a difficult task.

It should be easy to gather these treasures. After all, Jisung is the best at finding roly-polies in his backyard and his friends praise him all the time because he can catch the baseball when the teacher throws it really high in the sky. Of course, the petals will fall into his hands like they have no place they'd rather be. Where else would they wander?

But, one by one, the pretty pink petals slip through his fingers, twirling to the floor. As if on purpose, the petals avoid his fingers as if they were covered in pesticide. One escapes as he closes his hands. Another one curves when he reaches. Frustration fills him. 

_You can't touch me_, they whisper in his ear harshly. _You're not good enough_, they say.

Jisung's lips wobble. He can't have it because they're too nice for him. Such loveliness isn't meant to be possessed by someone as unlovely as he. It's arrogance. 

Strong hands pick him up as he starts to tremble. His father places him on his lap, wiping away the tears dripping away. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Th-The flowers d-don't like me." He hiccups. 

"What do you mean?"

"I tried t-to get one and th-they keep on avoiding me! I'm n-never gonna get one now."

A kiss to his temple. "Honey, no. Look at your feet."

Jisung looks down. Piles of petals bunch around his shoes spilling into the indents of the cobblestone walkway. He squeals, bending down to snag handfuls. They're as soft as he thought they would be. 

"See, there's plenty of petals down there. There's always a way to get to what you want as long as you have the mind to find it. "

He hugs his dad tight. "Thank you! Thank you!" He dumps the clumps of petals he collected onto his father's lap. "Can I take them home and put them in a box?"

"Sure. Just don't lose them, okay?"

"I won't! I promise!" says Jisung brightly, stuffing the beauties in his pockets until they threaten to burst. 

"C'mon. We have to go." His father stands up. "Your mom and brother are waiting for us at the hot springs."

A shower of pink dances around them and Jisung can't wait to show his mom what he found. Hand in hand, they waddle in a line down a flower-scattered pathway, one foot in front of the other as they count their steps until a cherry blossom ending.

.

.

.

_Impossibility_

  1. _an obstacle derailing the path ahead. I will simply walk around it_
  2. _an illusion designed to be dispelled_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung tagged along on his father's business trips and one of those places was Japan which he noted had nice people, fresh air, and good hot springs. 
> 
> I think he's very quick on his feet, evident by his on-the-spot solutions to problems he encounters, so I believe his parents must be similar.
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	3. Snow White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waffle and Pancake are the best pets a kid can ask for.

Waffle and Pancake are the best pets a kid can ask for. They're not demanding, they're not noisy, and they are the absolute cutest animals on the planet—turtles. His father saw a magnificent Koi pond in Japan featuring humongous turtles which lazed about the exhibit in all their gargantuan glory. He instantly bought the two without a second thought (or a second opinion from his wife).

Best decision ever.

Jisung knows about an American cartoon about teenage mutant ninja turtles that save the world, and he knows with enough super food and super training, Waffle and Pancake will one day be worthy to protect Korea from harm. And It's up to him to accelerate the process. 

Jisung observes as the turtles nibble on the mountain of wriggling earthworms he dug up from his neighbor's backyard. He spent his entire Saturday afternoon lifting up rocks and sticking his fingers into the deepest crevices of the mud for those suckers and he's glad to say it paid off generously. Of course, his mom almost passed out when she saw him holding a handful of those little suckers. She wouldn't even let him in unless he threw them away, so he waited until his brother came out of his room and they snuck the worms past her and dumped them in the tank. He felt like a true ninja master secretly supporting his apprentices. 

Waffle and Pancake grab onto opposite ends of the same earthworms, biting their way toward the center. Jisung coos. "Lady and the Tramp" is one of his favorite Disney movies of all time, so to see his turtles reenact it is like worlds colliding. He loves animal movies. To put it simply, he loves animals—cats, dogs, lizards. It doesn't matter their size or shape. They deserve to be cherished just as much as Jisung cherishes Waffle and Pancake. 

That being said, "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves" takes the cake as his absolute _favorite_ Disney movie.

Jisung sighs and wishes for the thousandth time that his life can be like hers minus the getting poisoned part because he doesn't think that'd be very fun. The manner by which Snow White sings, dances, and walks drips with grace and beauty. He too desires to live in a tiny cottage in the woods where animals cuddle him the moment he sings. He too wants to be a princess and be rescued by a prince. His brother teased him about his dream, but one day, he swears, it'll come true. 

His parents already support his endeavors. Yesterday, his father gifted him with a red bow an exact replica of Snow White's. His mom let him watch as she cooks soup. His brother is just jealous because he doesn't look pretty in dresses. 

But even if there are no dwarves to befriend him when he needs them most, even if there is no prince to sweep him off his feet, Jisung will become a princess because he can do anything if he sets his mind to it. It's the baby steps that count. He's already building up an army of animals that will love him on command. 

Jisung climbs up a chair and opens the top of the enclosure, reaching down to scoop Waffle out. He places her on the table and caresses her shell. A wave of calm washes over him. The smoothness of the shell and the gentle bumps of the design provide for.a unique texture Jisung adores. For some reason, animals have the uncanny ability to ease his stress in an instant. 

He thinks that's why princesses are so kind. Animals bring out the innate loveliness in them. Villains are mean because the woodland creatures know when to run away from the bad apples. If they had a bunny by their side, perhaps they wouldn't be nasty. 

His mother calls him from the kitchen. "Sungie! Wash your hands! Lunch is ready!"

Jisung kisses Waffle on the head, carefully returning her to her tank. He bends down and scratches at the glass. "I'll play with you next time, Pancake."

He hopes his mom sliced enough Kimbap to construct a tower tall enough for him to hide in. But that's a princess for another day. 

.

.

.

_Snow White_

  1. _in a home afraid of beauty, she lived true to herself—kind, talented, and of course, pretty_
  2. _an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but if a single apple can kill me, I'd rather have her keep coming_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung stated in a V-Live that he used to own two pet turtles before he moved to Malaysia. I read a comment somewhere saying that he raised cats, but I either haven't seen or remembered if he said that in a video so I didn't include them. 
> 
> At a fan sign, Jisung said he likes Snow White and wants to be a princess. And he also stated that he wants to live in a house surrounded by nature. I ramped up the princess part due to personal preference, but I hope the rest is okay. 
> 
> Next chapter, Jisung moves to Malaysia.
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	4. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a matter of weeks, Jisung is left without a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll today was my first day of college and i went to the library to finish up this chapter and i felt so inadequate. I peeked over at the desk next to me and this girl was reading up on how to be a nurse and i'm just over here soaking up the college wifi to write kpop fanfiction like damn,,, but whatever catch me tomorrow doing the same exact shit in the name of han jisung

Another year of smooth turtle shells and twinkling tiaras, another airplane with sleek silver wings and roaring engines, another vast sea of clouds to swim through. To a boy whose limbs grow bigger and bigger by the day, international trips gradually blend into his routine. Pack up. Buckle in. Fly—again and again until his feet stretch until they graze the floor and his curious eyes can peer through the tiny square window overlooking the sky. This time, seatbelt digging into his chest, Jisung feels the difference.

Change is a snake. It slithers into long-forgotten cracks, sneaks between the crevices of fenced gates, and when heads turn and attention scatters—strikes. Suddenly, Waffle and Pancake disappear from their tank. Suddenly, his Gundam toys rest in the hands of the little girl next door. Suddenly, their sturdy abode nestled within the heart of Incheon empties itself out on the smoke gray vein of the narrow street. 

In a matter of weeks, Jisung is left without a home. 

The flight attendant speaks over the noise of the plane. "Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath you or in the overhead bins. Thank you."

The voice of the Captain filters through the grainy speakers. He has to strain to articulate the words. "Flight attendants and cabin crew, prepare for landing, please."

Jisung clutches to his seatbelt with a frown, pulling it closer with white knuckles, as the plane descends toward the ground. A line of white passes the window and in a blink, mountains of green spread across the canvas of his vision where waves of clouds once resided. Corner to corner, tall trees blanket the curvy landscape. It's a familiar sight. Jisung should be used to it. But the veil of permanence cascading over this country fills him with anxiety. 

The memory of shouts invades his thoughts followed by the echo of a bang—a fist hitting wood. It arrives with a couple crying over a stack of papers in the middle of the night when they think their sons are fast asleep. The shouts linger like a secret Jisung swears to cradle in his heart. With the hum of the engine behind him, he remembers the argument piercing paper-thin walls. 

"It's like any other time we went to another country! It's work!"

His mother screamed, "Work? That's not an excuse to uproot our entire life, leave our home, our family, our friends! A place where no one speaks Korean. We'll be foreigners. Alone. I'm sick of it."

"It's temporary. We'll be back!"

"When?" A cry, full and heart-breaking. "Our kids are almost done with elementary school. They have friends. They need to stay here and finish their education. Not only that, I want to stay home."

A silence wavered in the desperation bleeding out between them, cut up by his mother's sobs. Jisung buried his head into his pillow.

The death of a hero begins with the realization of vulnerability. 

"We'll adjust, okay," his father whispered. It's muffled as though convincing himself of a lie. "We're going to be fine."

The flight attendant startles Jisung out of his reverie. "Welcome to Kuala Lumpur International Airport. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the Captain turns off the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign."

"C'mon," his mother says, unbuckling him from his seat. 

They wait for the other rows of passengers before them to retrieve their items and exit the plane before grabbing their own luggage from the bulging overhead compartment. His mother carries two charcoal suitcases in each hand. Jisung holds two pillows and a purse. They waddle through the aisle, squeeze through the door, and follow the crowd of people onto the outskirts of the airport. 

His mother taps her foot impatiently. "Sungie, watch out for a fool with a thousand bags."

Jisung watches as individuals from every walk of life spill out the doors of the airport. Men with braids braided together, girls with large scarves wrapped around their head, and children lighter and darker than he floods the perpetually busy streets behind them. Not one of them looks like a fool. 

Bored with people-watching, he turns to his mother. She is scrutinizing the signs around her. Jisung pouts, following her gaze to the bright caution signs stapled about the building. Four different languages are translated on them and he recognizes none except for the rounded lines of the English alphabet he's seen glimpses of in the background of American cartoons. 

Then, he spots a fool. His father exits the airport, dressed to the nines with bags and duffels hanging from his arms and neck and head. Beside him, his older brother balances a basket atop his cranium. 

"You look stupid," says his mother.

"I love you too, honey," replies his father. He bumps his glasses up and spots something in the distance. "Our ride is here. Thank God." 

His parents hurry forward. Jisung's brother tugs at his hand to where a small faded yellow van is parked off to the side. While his father chats up the driver, they crush themselves and their luggage inside. It's like playing Tetris but his mother's nagging is closer to his ear.

"I call the window seat!" cries Jisung, crawling in after they're done. 

"No fair! Mom!"

His mother settles herself in the back beside a pile of their luggage. "Let your little brother have it."

"Ugh!"

His brother takes the middle seat grumpily, _accidentally_ kicking Jisung once before turning away. Jisung sticks his tongue out and looks out the window. The door slams shut, and with his father buckling in, the van putters forward toward their new life.

After traffic clears up, the road widens and they speed through the city at an alarming rate. The massive smoke gray buildings cast a shadow upon them in the tangerine pigments of the afternoon, and the muted colors of the shops pop in and out of his view. Pedestrians dot the sidewalks, bags full of strangely tinted fruits and spiky vegetables. Jisung swears on his heart he saw red bananas. On the other hand, his former teacher told him he needs to see the optometrist soon after he flunked the eye exam, so he can potentially be horribly wrong. He doubts it though.

The shops disappear once more and within an hour drive, the towering edifices shrink to long rectangular houses bracketed together. Like seemingly every other section of Malaysia, trees loom over the neighborhood like an old friend. They park in front of a mid-sized house with a burnt orange rooftop where a pile of boxes already made a home on their lawn.

Jisung doesn't want to come down. His mother forces him to. 

He jumps onto the cracked pavement and an uneasiness settles deep in his bones. This house won't have a garden with a stone slab perfectly placed as a hub for turtle food. This house won't have the room he and his brother shared their toys, their fights, and their midnight conversations. This house won't have the stains on the kitchen walls, the broken cabinet drawer, the slow fan, the squeaky floorboards, the backyard pond, the burn of an iron left on the carpet—it lacks the quirks and faults that structured his childhood, shaped his soul. 

"Jisung! Help your brother bring in one of the smaller boxes!" yells his dad. 

This place doesn't feel like home. Jisung wonders if it ever will. 

"Okay!" he says with a beaming smile. 

.

.

.

_Moving_

  1. _the act of repetition does not make hard actions easier, it is just the repetition of hard acts_
  2. _home is where the heart is, but what should I do when my home and heart are thousands of miles away_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung moved to Ampang, Malaysia when he was around 8/9. Obviously, he adores it, but it's stressful on all parties when deciding to move to another country, so I ramped up strife.
> 
> I don't have a source of Jisung stating he lived in Ampang, but I saw some Malaysian Stays say he used to live there with confidence so I ran with it. 
> 
> I thought I could compile all his Malaysian stories in one chapter, but I didn't want to write that much in one go, so I'm breaking it up into mini-chapters. 
> 
> If I have false information, tell me and I'll adjust it the best I can. Anyways, next chapter I'm debating whether he's gonna get eaten by a crocodile or he consumes some delicious cheesecake ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	5. Cheesecake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ceaseless hum of Malaysia follows Jisung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to update last week, but I ended up having no time because I had to go to a three-day college orientation (even though it's been weeks since college started). I figured might as well just wait until Jisung's birthday to post it and that'll be my gift.

The ceaseless hum of Malaysia follows Jisung.

Mornings start with the high-pitched _ting_ of delicate seashell wind chimes skipping through the air and crashing against his bedroom window. Afternoons are colored by the rough staccato of tempestuous barks and saccharine meows welding into one cacophonous shriek. In the evening, older boys exchange foreign vulgarities as their battered yellow bikes _kriiing_ past his house on their way home. The various notes of the day mark the soundtrack of his neighborhood. It is a hum, vibrating on a separate frequency. 

The hum lingers as he attends to his stuffed animals. Now a keeper of his own room, unregulated by his older brother, he strives to obtain perfection in the careful order he attempts to impose on his space. An order ruined by the stubborn Kitty plush toy which refuses to sit upright on his bed.

It's a token his brother won from some Australian fair a few years ago, throwing a bunch of rings onto empty Coca-Cola bottles. Jiwoon missed every single shot, but he supposes the carnival game operator took pity on him and offered a small Kitty as a prize. His brother got tired of it within an hour and now Jisung is the proud owner of a purple feline.

After a few more attempts, Jisung shoves the Kitty behind a much larger Kangaroo, huffing. 

"Bad kitty!" he scolds. He pats down his blanket and rushes out of his room to check if lunch is ready. 

He steps over a fallen set of Pororo books and tip-toes past his bundles of clothing on his way out. For an outsider, it appears as though his room lacks any form of rhyme or reason, but the seemingly dissonant arrangement is perfectly coherent to him. Colored clothing goes in one pile and his casual shorts are in another. The shirts that he never wears are in the closet and the books are on the floor because he reads on his stomach. The bed is empty so his stuffed animals have room to breathe, but his shelves are stacked with knick-knacks because that's where the knick-knacks belong. He doesn't expect his family to understand his methods. At the very least, he hopes having his own room would stifle the nagging somewhat.

He hurries down the stairs. The smell of bulgogi along with the distinct crunch of seaweed lure him in like a moth to light.

He almost forgets to hop over the ripped up cardboard boxes clogging up the kitchen entrance. It's been weeks since they've been rudely uprooted from Korea and planted here, but their parents continue to prolong their moving process by purchasing a variety of furniture to spruce up their new housing. Jisung doesn't think "Live! Laugh! Love!" frames will make the transition any easier, but it seems to satisfy his mother for whatever mysterious reason. 

If Jisung has one compliment to pay about the house, it is that it's absurdly large compared to his home in Incheon. With two floors and enough rooms for him to have extras, he finds himself one step closer to having his own castle. 

His stomach rumbles. "Mama? Are you done yet?" He climbs up a chair. 

"Am I your slave? You can just call me any time you're hungry?"

_"Mom!"_

"It's done," she says. She unties her apron with one hand, handing him a plate of unsliced Kimbap with the other fancifully. "Here you go, Young Master."

Jisung pouts, but minds himself not to whine. Last time he complained, his mother assaulted him with a tickle attack until his tummy hurt. 

A barrage of footsteps clamber down the stairs and his fight-or-flight instincts kick in. Sure enough, Jiwoon barrels through the kitchen, swiping Jisung's Kimbap and shoveling half of it in his mouth. 

"I didn't even get to taste it!"

"You snooze, you lose!"

Jisung kicks his chair. Jiwoon blows a raspberry. 

"Stop." His mother breaks another roll in half and distributes it between the two of them.

Jisung wraps his arms around his plate, stuffing as much of the rolls as he can in his mouth before his brother returns to harass him once more. His cheeks bulge with how much he has stored for safekeeping. 

He chews rapidly. Swallows. "I'm done!" he says.

"I was done first!" Jiwoon says. 

"It's not a race," his mother says, collecting their plates. "Okay, put on your shoes. We're leaving in a bit."

"Where're we going?" 

"The market. We're out of eggs."

Jisung hops off his chair and scrambles to shove on his light-up sketchers. He's buzzing in place, waiting for his mother to open the door. It creaks open slightly, but that's all Jisung needs to slip through the opening and bumble toward their rental car at lightning speed. Jiwoon is hot on his heelies, wheeling through the driveway. They push and prod their way to the left-hand window seat they swear provides for the best view of the city.

Jisung buckles himself in smugly. The engine rumbles, and the colors outside shift hazily. 

Fifteen minutes pass and their car parks nearby a street market. The sun rises directly above them. When he exits out of the air-conditioned vehicle, the heat covers him like a blanket—or rather more like a straitjacket—unable to shed himself of the uncomfortable temperature which restrains him. The amount of cars sardined around them begs Jisung to wonder how they could possibly recall where they're parked. The rows seem to stretch out for miles. But his mother holds his hand and he remembers that she is a human GPS and they'll have no problem. 

The ceaseless hum of Malaysia grows louder.

As they approach the market, the thunderous noise permeates the surrounding areas within a mile radius. Scarlet lights hanging from a thread creak and jingle as the wind push at their kinks. Customers sitting at round tables spill onto the pathway, speaking quickly about family, friends, and Mahjong. The simmer of salty-scented fish hitting the pan and the wooden jangle of rotating stands entice casual onlookers and curious tourists into spending more and more on the special glare of the sunglasses, the exotic nature of a dress, the momentary pleasure of a taste. 

He ignores it.

Jisung peeks over crooked wooden tables and smooths a hand over the spiky surface of the fruit section. He grabs a pink fruit he thinks looks pretty and hands it to his mother. She nods absent-mindedly, putting it in a bag where an assortment of flashy fruits mixes together. 

One fruit, in particular, catches his eye—a bundle of red bananas. Bananas so large he could barely wrap his hands around one. They look like fruits ripped straight off a videogame. He could see himself leaving it as a trap during Mario Kart. After his mother pays, he and Jiwoon split one and pop it in their mouths eagerly. They immediately scrunch their nose at the sweetness—or more accurately lack thereof. 

Afterward, they mosey past a maze of women with floral skirts and powerful perfume. Jiwoon's hand is the anchor that guides him through the garden of cloth. He's visited this market a handful of times before, but it never fails to amaze him. It has the constant movement of an impressionist painting. The motion of the mob and the shifts of the fabric and the blinking of lights paint a story that is never the same. Like footprints in the sand, imprinted on the history of the ocean, washed away for a clean slate where another traveler will derive their own interpretation. A never-ending, ever-changing canvas. 

The ceaseless hum of Malaysia trails after him like a shadow. He allows her to chase his heels. He slows down so she could walk alongside him. He meets her with the cautiousness of a new friend. With the need for boundaries but the want for intimacy. The foundation of a bridge built on the diminishment of discomfort, solidified by the passage of time. Like sharing a pair of mittens because life is better spent when two are spending it together. 

Malaysia isn't home. 

She is the awkwardness of an acquaintance. She is the hesitant comfort of a family friend. She is the potential of someone more. 

They return to their car decorated head-to-toe with snacks and miscellaneous ingredients. Jisung's arms are sore by the time they reach the kitchen, but he still helps his mother organize them. Snacks belong in the cabinet. Fruits and veggies belong in the fridge. And there is always the occasional "No, don't carry that, mommy will do it" followed by a shout of protest because "We're big boys and we don't need help at all!"

They are not big boys and they need a lot of help after all. 

Jisung's sticky fingers reach for a snack. His mother smacks his hand. "Those are for school!"

"School?"

"Next week, remember?"

"But school doesn't start until next month!" whines Jisung. 

"That was in Korea. Malaysian schools start earlier," says his mother. 

"Lame!"

"Be grateful!" she yells as he retreats back up the stairs. "You ended up having more vacation time because we moved in during the year-end holidays!" 

"Yeah. Yeah."

He kicks open his door with force, steps on his books, and crawls into his bed moodily. He drags the blanket up to his chin, facing the wall. Jisung wants to forget about school. He'd never thought he'd think that. Normally, he'd be off-the-walls ecstatic. In Korea, school was a place where potential friends congregated and he could show off his drawing skills to his teacher. It's a place where he was praised. He could understand it. But he has no idea how Malaysian schools function. He doesn't know a lick of English let alone Malay. 

What if he falls behind? What if the other kids ignore him because he can't talk to them? What if they think he's dumb?

More and more of these thoughts circulate. He falls asleep troubled. 

.

.

.

Jisung nibbles on his upper lip and smooths over the wrinkles of his uniform vest for the seventh time in an hour. 

_Hello, my name is Jisung Han. I am from Korea. Want to be friends?_

He recites this greeting under his breath ten times over before his father unbuckles him from his seat and drops him and Jiwoon off at the front of the school. His knees quiver in place. He observes the throng of students in identical blue clothing funneling into the entrance and drinks the scenery in. It tastes like a stale chicken nugget—it makes him want to hurl all over the cracked sidewalk. 

Without a moment of hesitance, Jiwoon takes the lead, holding Jisung's hand as they push a path to the main office where they'll hopefully be redirected toward their respective classes. Jisung sighs a breath of relief. After all, vomiting on school property is not the best way to cement a clean reputation, literally and metaphorically. 

"Fairview International School" stares him down as he enters the boxy white building. With multiple balconies and wide windows, the edifice has a keen resemblance to a monochromatic apartment complex. Even when they walk inside, Jisung sees nothing but white on white on gray. He smooths over his uniform once more. 

Two smartly dressed ladies linger at the entrance. Jiwoon assumes they are helpers and asks for help in clumsy English. They seem to get the gist of it because each of them takes their hands and points them in the right direction. 

Jiwoon starts to head where she directed. 

"You're not walking me to class?" asks Jisung.

"It's right there," says Jiwoon, gesturing to a room where kids with similar heights are gathered. He sees Jisung nibbling on his lip again. "Hey. Don't worry. You can be friends with anyone. They are no different than me and you. Go!"

Jisung nods stiffly, trudging to his classroom. While stomach churns uneasily, everything his brother said is true. There's a string which ties them together, unbroken by distance. He pulls on his cheeks and readies a smile. No one wants to be friends with a blob of gloominess. 

He bumbles into a small classroom filled with square tables being occupied quickly. Jisung picks a table at random, the frontmost middle table housing two other students. One of them has really curly hair that sits tight on his head. The other is a girl with her long hair wrapped up in two large buns. 

Here it is. The moment of truth. 

"Hello! My name... hm... is Jisung Han! I'm from Korea! Want—uh—my friend?"

The girl responds in a language that doesn't sound like Korean or English.

Jisung flounders but spots her turtle earrings. He wiggles excitedly. "Oh! You—터틀?" He pulls at his ear. "Me too! Me too!" He slaps his chest. 

It appears to work for a big gap-toothed smile spreads across her face. Jisung unconsciously mirrors her grin. They continue to communicate via exaggerated gestures and limited English. At some point, the other boy joins in on their broken conversation. Jisung doesn't know his name, but he knows the boy likes cats if he's reading the cheery "meows" correctly. 

The door swings open followed by the trill of the bell. A round woman wearing owl-like glasses waddles in with smiling eyes. She opens her mouth and a bunch of English spills out of it. Afterward, she vaguely gestures to one of the students.

Jisung eagerly bounces in his seat as though he understands. 

His classmate stands up. "I am Henry Yeoh! I like books!"

The introductions continue and it finally reaches his table. He's already confident in what he'd going to say. "I am Jisung Han! I like turtle!"

The class claps and he collapses on his seat proudly. His tablemate stands up and introduces himself with a round of cat impressions. Jisung high-fives him after he's done. 

By the end of the day, Jisung suffers from an English overload, but while his mind raced with the letters and the numbers, a deep contentment rushed through his veins. The mistakes he expected to make. The fear of screwing up. They melt in the effort of trying. 

His father asks him how his first day of school went. 

Jisung ignores him, falling asleep to the ceaseless hum of Malaysia, his body vibrating on the same frequency, functioning on the same wavelength. 

.

.

.

He awakes with his cheek squished against his father's shoulder as he is carried into the house. Jisung blinks away the sleepiness, curling in on himself, preparing for his father to toss him on the couch. He giggles as he bounces like a basketball. He rolls down and his feet _pit-pats_ to the kitchen. 

"Mama! Mama! Mama!"

She stands with her back turned to him. He thinks she's preparing dinner though he can't hear the cutting noises she usually makes. "Yes?"

"I made so many new friends! There's Henry who likes books! Meiling who likes turtles!"

"Did you have trouble understanding the teacher?"

"A little bit, but it was okay because she showed me pictures! I know how to say 'pig' in English! _Pig!"_

"Good job!" says his mom cheerily. "But you know what's better than pigs?"

"What?"

She opens up the refrigerator and Jisung's heart stops as she parts a row of water bottles to reveal a distinct creamy pastry. His jaw drops. No. It couldn't be. Not the cake that he drools about in his dreams. Not the cake he's been craving since he landed in Malaysia. It's too good to be true. And yet—

Jisung hops in place. "CHEESECAKE!" 

His mom lifts it away from his eager hands, sliding it onto the table. Jiwoon shouts in joy but Jisung can't hear him, too focused on getting himself a plate and monopolizing the chair closest to his favorite dessert.

His first encounter with cheesecake was at his grandmother's house which was an hour's drive away. Her house was located right next to a newly-opened Western-styled restaurant that exclusively sold pastries. It was extremely popular with the youth there. Every other weekend that Jiwoon and Jisung visited, his grandmother would purchase them a batch of sweets—warm nutty muffins, smooth syrupy Flan, and soft flaky cheese danishes. But none of them compared to the heaven of eating cheesecake. 

The dish his mother prepared when he tripped and scraped his knee. The dish he ate when he was rattled after a scary movie. His favorite dish in the whole wide world. 

Jisung worried whether or not they'd have cheesecake in Malaysia or that even if she did whether it'd still taste like a kiss from the angels. He desperately hopes it does. He licks his lips, fingers tapping impatiently on the wood. He can hear his brother's rustling shorts as his leg shakes up and down. 

His father chuckles as he joins his two vibrant sons. 

His mother cuts the cake up into a few slices and Jisung stuffs his cheeks the second his share touches his plate.

Jisung wiggles in delight, happiness shaking him to his core.

It tastes just like the cheesecake in Korea. 

.

.

.

_Cheesecake_

  1. _an anchor reminding me that the most important parts of home travel alongside me. as long as I hold onto your presence, life will greet me with a warmer smile_
  2. _heaven in a bite, comfort in a sensation_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung described his experience with red bananas in a group interview. He said they were as large as water bottles and less sweet. 
> 
> Confirmed by former classmates, he attended Fairview International School while in Malaysia where he spoke in English and Korean.
> 
> His favorite food is cheesecake. A man of taste. 
> 
> Jisung has the habit of biting his lips when contemplating. 
> 
> Tell me if I got the Malaysian school system or just Malaysia wrong. I dunno what I'm doing. I only know what Jisung and google tell me. Help.
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	6. Depth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jisung asks his mother if he can join his father's jungle tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This involves an in-depth description of a kid nearly drowning to death.

Jisung asks his mother if he can join his father's jungle tour. If it were any other day, then this would not be an odd request. But he thinks it's necessary considering the state of the weather today. Droplets smack against the foggy windows like a barrage of bullets, producing a sound reminiscent of a chicken sizzling on a pan. It's raining cats and dogs outside—he laments that it's not literally. 

To his dismay, she says, "I don't know about that."

"Why not?"

She stares him down. "Have you looked outside?"

He spares a quick glance in hopes that the cement-colored clouds have thinned since he has last seen them. They collect thickly atop his house. "Okay, but it's not even that bad!"

"It's pouring. It's too dangerous to go on a boat."

"I'll be fine! There's going to be a lot of pros there and they're going to make sure I'm super duper safe!"

"Anything can happen."

Jisung can't understand why his mother hesitates. It's not the first time he has gone on a tour. In fact, it's not even as though he's only been on the tour a few times. Every other weekend or whenever they're free, his father encourages him and his older brother to tag along on his trips. A few weeks prior, he and Jiwoon participated in a Jungle Exploration tour where they had the opportunity to meet with the Native Malay people that lived there. He even fed the monkeys who curiously peeked their heads out at the ruckus. If his mother was so lenient as to allow him to be in contact with wild animals, he finds no difference in riding a boat in the rain. 

He takes a deep breath and activates his whining mode. "Please!" he drags out, wiggling in place for emphasis. 

His mother frowns, but she's weak. "Fine. Just be sure to make it back home in time for lunch."

"Are you making Bah Kuh Teh?"

"Who told you?"

"No one!" he lied. "Okay, maybe it was Dad."

"Knew it. He can't keep his mouth shut. Also, tell your father to pack all your things. I'm not packing for you."

"I can pack for myself!"

"Sure."

"I can!" 

He'd rather not banter with his mother at the moment though. They have to leave as soon as possible if they want to arrive on time. So, instead, he sprints back up to his room and starts stuffing items inside his Pokemon-themed travel backpack—extra clothes, a firetruck red towel, and kid-sized bug-spray. Tugging on his swimming trunks and slinging the luggage over his shoulder, he hurriedly exits.

On his way out, he passes by his brother's open door. A glimpse of Jiwoon's back hunched over a stack of papers reveals itself between the gap. Jisung feels sorry for him. Jiwoon's teacher assigns an ungodly amount of homework every weekend as though her students don't have a life outside of her classroom. Since Jisung rarely goes on the tours without his brother, they've been missing a lot of them. But this time, Jisung is too bored today to wait for him. 

He shouts his goodbyes as he bolts out the door toward the car where his father is waiting. His father, tall and thin and jolly, looks up from his place in the driver's seat with a startle. "Oh! I didn't think your mother would actually let you out!"

Jisung climbs into the seat behind him, buckling himself in. "I convinced her."

The car revs up loudly. Jisung shakes his hair, wetting the seat around him. 

"Alright. You have swim trunks on?"

"Check!"

"Repellant?"

"Check!"

"Sunscreen?"

"Che—Hey! Why do we need sunscreen when it's raining outside?"

"You never know!"

Jisung groans. "You're just like mom!"

His father hums. "I guess that's why we're meant to be."

"Gross."

His father's chuckle bellows throughout the car, bouncing around the confined space. It's full and low and youthful. Jisung really likes his father's laughter. At times, he wishes he could bottle up and keep it on a shelf so when he's sad, he could open it and remember what true happiness sounds like—deep contentment rumbling at the core of yourself, satisfaction found in the stability of adulthood. If Jisung could have an ounce of his father's laughter, then success would be an inch away from his grasp.

The car starts to move, the pictures of the neighborhood movings alongside it. The scenes pass by him like an unending roll of film. One by one they present themselves before his eyes and he watches the familiar movie unfold. Malaysia is a stranger no longer. Jisung can trace the grooves of her hand as he walks down the busy streets.

Their car draws up in front of a half-packed parking lot. Usually, it would be filled to the brim, but the pouring of the rain puts a damper on tourist activity. His father instructs him to stay inside the car while he helps his co-workers set up the boat and check the customers in. After half an hour or so of Jisung drawing fog pictures on the windows, his father returns, picking him up and carrying him to the boat. He's a little big for carries, but he'll always be a large baby to his father. 

The boat is long with a wooden design. A large faded green canopy shields their heads, complimenting the bright orange shade of the hull. He heard about this type of boat in school but forgets the exact name for it.

Despite the weather, a fair amount of people still show up for their reservations, dressed casually in ashy brown shorts and tank tops. Their excessively large backpacks make them look like turtles, but Jisung knows it's not polite to say so aloud so he doesn't.

He waits for the others to get into the boat before hopping onto the back. While he's a little lonely, he understands when his father stands in the front farthest away from him because it's his job to communicate with the foreign tourists. He's lucky his father is fluent in English or else he'd be struggling to comprehend his lessons without his help. 

The engine vibrates and the boat begins its trek. 

Jisung zones out his father's practiced spiel and peers around. The river is now a murkier Persian blue rather than the tranquil turquoise he's accustomed to seeing. Spotted fish swim barely below the top, but Jisung can't distinguish them as easily as he used to with the rain pelting the surface and disrupting the texture of the water. As they reach further into the jungle, Jisung sees an arrangement of trees in a U-shape. On a previous tour, a bunch of monkeys came out and swam around, even becoming brave enough to hop on the boat and coo for oranges. The rain beats harder. They're probably cuddling up with their family now. 

The boat turns at a fork and they enter a long pathway bracketed by more of the same trees. They slow to a stop at a section that opens up to a large waterfall. 

Jisung bounces in his seat excitedly. This is one of his favorite parts of the tour—being able to swim at the waterfall until his father called him and Jiwoon back in for snacks. The tourists take out their umbrellas and go out to sightsee or dip their toes in the water. Jisung wiggles out of his sweater quickly so he could splash around. He climbs a rock he judges is tall enough to let him cannonball inside. It's a lot higher than he's used to, but it shouldn't be by much. 

His father is still on the boat conversing with his fellow tour guide. Jisung jumps and waves at him. "Dad!" 

His father turns his head, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, "Sung-ie! Be careful! The water is a lot higher than usual!"

Jisung nods excitedly, jumping again. Then, his foot slips. He sees the dark gray of the sky before getting submerged in water. 

He doesn't know if his father called out to him. He doesn't know if he screamed. He only knows three things about the situation: one, his feet don't touch the ground. Two, the current is stronger than him. And three, everything is too loud. 

From behind him, in front of him, and at his sides, water pushes against him, rushing by his ears and into his nose, his mouth. They scream at him like a horde of rabid dogs. The bright orange hull of the boat flashes into view before the current scratches at his ankles and drags him under. Everything screams around him—the shrieks of the jungle, the beat of the rain, the roar of the river. 

His throat burns. His head bobs in and out of the water. He can't breathe. 

His hands, his legs, his body—they're nothing but useless limbs flailing like leaves in the wind. He's gasping and grasping and—

His hands catch on a hard surface. A rock. Sharp pain bursts at his fingertips. He clings on, digging his nails into the stone, pulling himself closer. 

The screams come back fiercer, slapping against his face relentlessly. It floods into his mouth, forced to spit it back out again.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

He tries to open his eyes for a sign of that reassuring orange hull, but the fog is too thick to discern what's the jungle and what's not. It's gone. They're gone.

An object stirs beside him. He turns his head. 

Large. Scaly. Green.

A crocodile. 

And for the first time, the world falls completely silent. The screams die in a moment. The roars quiet, the shrieks fade away, and Han Jisung can't hear anything but the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat begging to rip out of his chest. 

He realizes, 'If I let go now, I'm going to die.'

He forces his arms to drag him chest to chest with the rock. 

He realizes, "If I let go now, I can't go home.'

Jisung always thought that if his life flashed before his eyes like the final recap of a season, then it would be a really short recap indeed. Too young for his life to have anything of worth. But as he clings on desperately, turns out there's a lot to think about. He thinks of his friends who listen to him when he talks excessively about turtles and cats and Disney princesses who deserve better, of his teacher who always adds an extra star sticker on his classwork for extra luck, of his brother who needs his help reviewing for his vocabulary test, of his father who's calling his name and receiving no response.

He thinks of his mother. His mother who is flipping through channels in the living room, waiting for him to come home. 

His fingers start to give in the relentless drag of the waterfall. 

Jisung wonders if lunch is ready. He was really looking forward to that Bah Kuh Teh. 

.

.

.

A flash of orange. 

A deep yell. 

The rough yank of an arm pulling him out of the water. 

All at once a barrage of blankets covers him, wrapping him, protecting him. He's gagging, coughing out a dam of water. It hurts. His eyes clear and the sounds return—the pit-pat of the raindrops hitting the canopy, the worried coos of the passengers, and the heartbreaking whimper of his sobbing father in front of him, holding him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," his father whispers shakily. "I should've been with you."

A chill sweeps through him. His knees tremble. He's tense. 

He faintly hears someone say, "That could have been really dangerous."

If they had grabbed him a minute later, if his fingers had let go a minute earlier, if he didn't call out to his father and fell on his own—where would he be? Would he be here right now in this moment? 

A second. 

A minute.

Another.

And in the warmth of his father's arms, Jisung cries. 

He's safe. 

.

.

.

_Depth_

  1. _the depth of my fear is as deep as the sea. I'm drowning in the thought of losing you. My feet wish to touch the ground you anchor_
  2. _the depth of my love is as deep as a ravine. I'm falling fast. I want you to catch me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Two Kids Room Han X Woojin, Jisung tells Woojin about how when he was a kid, he got swept up by the waterfall during a Malaysian boat tour. While he was clinging to a rock, he saw the tail of a crocodile. He got saved by one of his dad's co-workers. 
> 
> Jisung went on a lot of Malaysian tours. One of which was a Jungle Exploration Tour where he got to meet and speak with the Native Malay people who lived there as well as feed monkeys. 
> 
> In the Two Kids Room Han x Lee Know, he tells Minho that he likes Bah Kuh Teh. 
> 
> It's a short chapter because I can't write action, but I also updated quickly! After looking over my fanfics and seeing that a lot of it is unfinished, I'm attempting to set a schedule where I upload weekly. Hopefully, that means I'll be finished within a year! That sounds long, but considering one of my fics has been in progress for years and not even halfway done, that's pretty short. 
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


	7. Firefly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive home is devastating.

The drive home is devastating.

Rain slamming against the foggy car windows booms like thunder, lightning cracking on the glass. Like water rushing on all sides, the world screams at him to pay attention. The world floods with noise. The low hum of the car trembles beneath Jisung's fingertips, the occasional honking of trucks ringing in his ears. He's somehow aware and unaware of his surroundings at the same time, the devastating push and pull of too much and not enough, sobs wracking his shivering body until his father bundles him up in his arms and carries him to the house. 

Street lights flicker high above him as he struggles to stay awake. He blinks once and the whirring of the living room fan soothes his ears. By the time his soft cries melt into stuttered hiccups, his father has already placed him down. Limbs ache and he hurts, but he has to stay conscious. He needs to. If he falls asleep, he'll drown. If he lets go, he can't go home. 

_I'm home,_ he tells himself. The savory smell of cold dinner passes him. _I'm okay._

His mother walks into the living room from the hallway with her arms balancing a mountain of towels. She smiles, ready to greet them, before pausing in her steps. Her arms and mouth drop at the sight of him—Jisung's ruffled hair, soaked clothes, and rubbed-red eyes. The quiver of his lips, the jump of his body, and how his tiny hand clung tightly to his father's jacket embodying the baby he always swore up and down he wasn't—her baby. 

Jisung runs into her empty arms, burying his wet cheek into her cotton sweater because she's here, I'm here, and he never liked those over-priced pumpkin spice candles until they clung to his mother's scent, ingrained themselves in the character of her, became synonymous with her solid presence. He holds her tight. He holds her long. He ignores her tight grip as she glares at his father. 

When his brother's warm hand, equally as tiny and reassuring, intertwines with his, dragging him up the stairs, he's a lot calmer. But even with Jiwoon by his side, the undeniable crack of a slap behind him can't be masked. 

Jiwoon slams the bedroom door shut, leading Jisung to his bed where they sleep together for the first time in years, hands and legs crisscrossed on each other under the warmth of a knit Doraemon blanket. 

Jisung turns at the sound of shouting distorted by the walls. 

Jiwoon tugs the blanket over his ears. "Go to sleep, Sung-ie. It's just the wind."

He listens.

.

.

.

Sunlight peeks through the blinds and startles Jisung awake. Jiwoon is an even bigger sleeper than him, so he untangles himself from their human braid and goes downstairs. A large mass lies on the couch. Upon careful inspection, he finds that it's his father. He has two options. 

**>BE SOUR**

**>BE SWEET**

Jisung smiles, climbing on top of his father's belly and smacking his face. 

Predictably, his father's eyes swing open, bleary with confusion, before they squint with clarity under the sound of Jisung's laughter. His arms wrap around Jisung's middle pulling him down into a tight hug. "You thought that was funny?"

Giggles burst out his lungs as he wiggles out and onto the ground again. "Good morning!" 

"You look better," says his father, the couch squeaking as he erects himself. He rolls his head around his shoulders. 

"A little."

A hand caresses the top of his head. "Don't go where I can't follow."

"I won't." 

The loud creak of a door signals a new presence. Jisung turns. With her hair tangled up like a used broom, eyelids painted a dark gray, and her general wrinkled unpleasantness, his mother looks like she was tossed into a blender and then some. Guilt fills him. He promised to be safe.

Her gaze steels at the sight of his father, melting when it meets Jisung's. She picks him up and peppers his puffy face with a bucket of kisses. "Did you sleep well?"

Her kisses tickle him. "Mommy! Stop!"

"No! Muah! Muah! Muah!"

His father asks timidly, "Do I get morning kisses?"

"You get nothing."

Jisung nibbles on his lip, eyes darting back and forth between them. While his parents weren't the most lovey-dovey couple, they gave away good morning and goodnight kisses like candy on Halloween. Luckily, the drowsy thumps of Jiwoon walking down the stairs break the tension momentarily as his mother turns to shower his older brother with his own share of affection. 

His father breathes out a deep sigh. Jisung pats his hand. 

The chill pervades until his father departs for work with nothing else except a ruffle of Jisung and Jiwoon's hair. His mother ignores him, apparently busy with preparing their lunch, hugging them repeatedly before dropping them off at school with a tearful goodbye. When the sun sets and the day concludes, the family congregates at the dinner table and his parents continue to act as though their spouse is a ghost resigned to haunting their humble abode.

His father asks him how school was. His mother asks him how school was. Two conversations about the same topic like a multiplayer split-screen featuring the same scene in two different perspectives except Jisung is torn in between. Jiwoon pretends like he's not fazed by the shift, but everyone has their habits and his brother periodically tugs at his ear.

He thinks it'll last dinner and it'll end. But the days bleed out into the morning and it continues. And a morning turns into mornings and suddenly his parents haven't spoken civilly in weeks. 

A constant cycle of yelling pierces through the house, rising with an ardent furor, quelling briefly before a snide remark is uttered in the bitter silence and the shouts bubble up to the surface again with a reignited passion. A single incident exposed the flaws of their marriage—Jisung's near-drowning revealed a layer of distrust and a hint of exhaustion waiting to be addressed. 

But amidst this tense cold war, Jisung had confidence. Recently, his class watched a washed-out movie about a guy whose entire reality turned out to be an illusion. Up was down. Down was up. He figured out that the world that he lived in was nothing but a simulation created by another being. It begged the audience to ask the question: do we really know anything at all?

The simple answer Jisung has is "yes." Confidently, without a doubt, he says "yes." The sky may not be blue, and Earth could be one large ploy designed to deceive the masses, but when the foundation of his reality shakes, he can hold onto a universal, emphatic truth—his parents love each other. They love each other with enough severity that it fills the entire meaning of the word. 

For as deep of a rut as they are going through now, love is an emotion stained on his mother like permanent marker on pure white paper. Like two souls converging into one. Their family loves hard and loves evermore, the tendency written into their DNA. 

His parents met on the road. His father used to be the frontman of a rock band, traveling town to town to play at festivals, but he also found busking to be just as pleasing. It was during one of his busking events that he met his mother, tough and kind. His father described it as seeing a piece of himself in her and wanting to feel whole. 

Then a baby arrived unexpectedly, and his father was at a road diverged in a yellow wood—music and family. Passion and love. And in the end, love is a choice, and he would choose her every time. And Jisung knows that if given the opportunity, his mother would choose him too. 

A season ends before his eyes and the rain breaks to make room for the cold wind and dry leaves. Fights no longer occur but a clear divide has been drawn. They sleep in the same room, backs to each other, frowns on their lips. 

It's in the benevolence of a sunny Saturday afternoon, Jisung says, "I want to go on another tour."

His father chokes on his tea. 

His brother cackles. 

His mother says, "No."

"But—"

"No but's. Remember the last time you got on one of those godforsaken boats?"

"That was weeks ago! I'm a new person! Please, it's the season of firefly tours."

His mother snaps her book shut. "No. That last time I let you go on a tour by yourself, you nearly died, so no you can't go on the tour. You can't go on any more tours." She's leaning forward now, more steely, but Jisung refuses to be intimidated. 

He explodes. "It happened once! Dad knows now and he'll watch me this time!'

He looks to his father who sips at his tea like it'll disengage himself from the conversation. Coward.

His mother seems to think the same. "I don't trust your father."

"Go with me then!" Jisung proposes. "If you can't trust dad to take care of me then you should come too."

Jiwoon, the jerk, doubles over with laughter. 

His mother doesn't do tours. In spite of her husband's job requiring them to move around constantly, she has never bothered to experience one herself, letting her sons entertain themselves with the tourist talks while she preferred to remain at home. She claimed that there is nothing new to be learned at a tour that she cannot find for herself so why go out of her way to sit through one of them.

Jisung thinks that this mindset causes her to miss out on a lot. 

"Jisung," she says gravely. 

"Mom," he says, a little less gravely. "You know I always wanted to see the fireflies like in Princess and the Frog!" He pouts. "Can't you do this for me?"

His mom tells him that he looks adorable when he blows up his cheeks. He tries to make them look extra puffy. 

A moment passes. His mother groans. "Fine. But you and Jiwoon aren't leaving my side for a second."

"I'm going too?" Jiwoon complains.

"Everyone's going. It's a family trip."

Jisung wiggles in his seat, hugging and kissing his mom. He crawls beside his dad who pats him gently. Another step for his parents, another step towards progress. 

.

.

.

His mother grips onto his shoulders almost painfully as they enter the boat. It rocks and she shakes and although his father offers a hand to her, she refuses to take it, sitting down quickly as to steady herself. She presses Jisung tight beside her, their hips squished together, two peas in a very large pod. 

Jisung envies Jiwoon who has the luxury of sitting on the edge. His mother watches him like a hawk but at least his brother isn't literally chained to her. It took a whole lot of convincing to get his mother to put down the discounted squirrel backpack with a leash acting as the tail.

With a shout, his father's coworker sounds the beginning of the tour and the boat pushes forward. 

The idle journey allows for wandering eyes to drink their fill as they waded down the river toward the ocean. The tangerine glow of the setting sun accentuates the more stunning features of nature, breathtaking even to an untrained eye. It's the beauty that can be captured in the viridian of the leaves as expensive as emeralds and as priceless as a glance, the hazy colors of the melting sky blurring into one another reminding Jisung of a used paint palette, and the curvature of the mountains, purple watercolor a smudge on the picture-perfect illustration. The water, the deep blue that terrifies Jisung, holds a mystique hidden behind the sparkle of a wave.

This is what Jisung adores about these trips—the complete exposition of a country condensed in an experience. A mere hint of what a view can inspire. 

The sun dives into the sea and the world plunges into darkness. Murmurs spread throughout the boat and Jisung remembers that he's not alone. Silence is interrupted by his father voice asking them to wait. 

On cue, small wisps of fire rise off the ground. They float around in the darkness, a glimpse of the sun inside a lackadaisical bug. He wonders if the bugs are aware of their allure. If they can comprehend the fascination they instill on an outsider. Jisung reaches his hand out for one, wondering if they'll burn or fade away into the night as all pretty things do. 

His mother's grip loosens around him. Her eyes are glazed over with amazement, the corners of her mouth quirking into a delighted smile. She stretches her finger out like a child curious about how the world works. 

It's a contrary image to how she usually presents herself—stone-cold and the strong matriarch of the Han family. But in these moments, Jisung sneaks a peek at the girl his dad fell in love with on that lonely autumn day when no one was watching him sing but her. 

His father gazes at her softly with a tinge of resignation. Jisung wishes they would make up. He hopes the fireflies can guide his parents to each other, be the north star sending them home. 

The fireflies are gone as soon as they came. The resulting darkness is brief, the other tour guide turning on the lamps before turning the boat back to whence they came. 

Jiwoon leans on his shoulder because of exhaustion and Jisung's starting to feel it too. His father helps his colleagues clean up, then carries Jiwoon to the car. His mother holds onto his hand, buckling him in with a kiss. 

The ride home is serene. 

The world sings to him a song that can't be heard, only felt. Jisung fades in and out of consciousness to the rhythm of the car humming below him, the bumps rocking him to a lullaby of jangling car keys and the scritch-scratch of the road. 

Before Jisung falls prey to the gentle lull of sleep once and for all, he sees his parents' holding hands between the seats, ears pink.

He scoffs. Gross.

.

.

.

_Firefly_

  1. _the risk of following you into the dark is straying from my path, but as long as I persist for your light, I'm not afraid_
  2. _I wish to be a person who can shine brightly on their own, a bioluminescent boy saving myself one smile at a time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jisung mentioned on a live about how he went on this firefly tour. They traveled down the river until they got to the ocean where the fireflies came out. 
> 
> My parents like to cuddle on the couch, kiss goodbye, and hold hands in the car. Kinda gross. 
> 
> This was longer and more full of Jisung's parents than I intended. The next chapter will be shorter, I hope. We have quite a long way to go, so I should speed through Malaysia fast. 
> 
> Next chapter, Jisung gets his first phone!
> 
> Here's my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/omg_itsnothing)!


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